


Shut Down

by DisposalUnit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Case Gone Wrong, Depression, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposalUnit/pseuds/DisposalUnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch and Reese both have rough nights after a case ends tragically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Down

It was good for his library computer to be turned off once in a while. Even a computer needed downtime, with no computing processes running. Not even the cooling fan keeping a steady stream of air flowing through the unit.

After initiating shutdown, Finch bundled himself into his winter coat for the cold walk to where the car service would be picking him up, a safe distance away from the library. The cold always aggravated his hip, and after a day of standing for hours while undercover and climbing four flights of stairs faster than was even remotely comfortable, his constant pain was already much worse than usual. He would need to take two pain pills before going to bed, if he didn’t want to be awakened by the terrible ache at around four in the morning.

He disliked taking the pills. They made him feel groggy and slowed his thinking. That was the reason he gave Mr. Reese. It was technically true, so he hadn’t broken his promise to never lie John.

The real reason he disliked opening the prescription bottle and shaking a pill out, he mused, was that he’d so often thought about shaking out many more than one or two. Enough to give him real downtime, with no mental processes running. Perhaps enough to turn off his own air intake system.

There were times when that last option seemed most appealing. And after a day of losing two Numbers, a mother and baby, shot right in front of him, this was one of those times.

But the next Numbers would need him. John needed him.

And at this moment, Bear needed him. He leashed the patient dog and slowly, carefully, descended the steps to street-level.

\----

Finally in his pajamas, he sat on the edge of his bed and opened the bottle.

One. Two. A gulp of water and they were down.

Carefully bring legs up, pull covers over him, turn bedside lamp off. Dark. Goodnight, Bear. Close eyes. Sleep.

Crying, pleading young woman, clutching her baby boy to her chest. Turning away from the attacker, attempting to shield the child with her own body. Gunshot. Gunshot. Gunshot. Gunshot. Spattered blood and tissue. Gunshot. Mr. Reese had arrived and brought the attacker down, too late to save the Numbers. They lay dead.

Harold awoke with a sob and flicked on the bedside lamp, banishing the disturbing sight. Wincing, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. Bear licked at his arms in concern.

He should have acted more quickly. He should have put himself between the gunman and the Numbers. It might have bought them an extra few seconds. It might have been enough time for Mr. Reese to save them. He’d had the chance to protect them and failed.

Again and again, he’d failed and people had died because of him. Living with the constant pain in his hip and neck was one thing, but this crushing guilt was just too much agony.

One, two, water. One, two, water. One, two, water. The last one, water.

It felt better to take action.

Carefully bring legs up, pull covers over him, turn bedside lamp off. Dark again and forever. Goodbye, Bear. Close eyes. Sleep and never dream again. 

His cellphone rang. Groggily, he reached for it. This was one last dream.

“Finch?”

“Yes, Mr. Reese?” Bedside lamp on.

“I’m sorry I woke you. I just…” His speech was slurred. “I need someone to talk to.”

“Where are you, John?” Bring legs off side of bed to sit up.

He told John to wait where he was. He’d be there soon, with a car.

Get up. He would need to get dressed, call the car service… Oh.

He hobbled to the bathroom, folded a towel, and with much difficulty, managed to kneel on it, in front of the toilet. After a few tries, he was able to make himself vomit. He counted seven mostly-intact pills. Was that how many he’d taken? The first two must have already been digested, he reasoned.

It was not easy to get dressed, doped-up as he was on the two extremely strong pain pills, plus the outermost layer of seven more. He had to keep his balance by leaning against the wall. Bear supervised, worried.

By the time he and Bear got downstairs, the towncar was waiting. He gave the driver the address of a seedy bar and stroked Bear’s head as they made their way to pick up Mr. Reese.

Tonight, John needed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray, I ended a story with both Finch and Reese still alive!


End file.
